THE JOY OF THE VILLAGE
The Lorries rusty and rickety
We however longed much to ride in them.
The chance never came.
The days passed.
Yet the day to ride in them never came
It was a long desire.
Though it lasted for years
It was one existing in our minds only
How real, we never knew
Brother would tell stories on the dusty road about football dreams.
Yes, dreams it remained.
Like a headless sardine
I had no idea what I wanted.
Pushing through the long road to school always
Sometimes alone at age eight
Beaten by the rain, scotched by the sun, by-passed by the treasured rickety lorry I always took time to wave at.
Amidst all these, there was joy untold
Yes! Joy that lasted beyond days
The joy was sure because I know no travels
I could not compare my experience to any other
The champion in the village I was
School was fun because I had power
Daddy was a staff; Brother was a senior
Today is Saturday- a day to toil for naught
The lands and trees we cleared with old machetes
The mounds we raised with inherited hoes
Left over yam suckers we nursed
Carefully we de-weed the farms
Harvest must be monitored by parents unlike the work
Traps to catch mice, rats, squirrels and weak grasscutter
That was the way legitimate for earning first money
Though a catch takes time to arrive
It’s met with joy always like new birth.
Rural African life is a treasured experience of only a few like myself who manage to sail through
The majority we left behind in the race
Looking unto us as tho’ we’re gods
Hoping our success would trickle down to them
The dependency goes on
You cannot plan without them in mind.
The culture frowns at that.
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